


Five Ways to Ruin A First Date

by Likerealpeopledo



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 5 Things, 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Sledding, Snow, Snow and Ice, There was only one sled, alternate first date, downhill cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27769690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likerealpeopledo/pseuds/Likerealpeopledo
Summary: What happens when Patrick throws all his well-laid plans out the window and invites David to go sledding.OrThere was only one sled.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 91
Kudos: 213
Collections: Schitt's Creek: Frozen Over (2020)





	Five Ways to Ruin A First Date

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Hurt/Comfort? Mild injury? Huddling for warmth? Emotional meltdown? Simply poor planning? It's your call. But I'd love a getting together (or growing closer) fic centered on this most classic of tropes: There Is Only One Sled.

**1\. Fail to ask why a thirty-thr...ive (??) year old has never been sledding before you offer to take him.**

Patrick Brewer has a list.

That is an out-and-out lie. He has dozens of lists. But first and foremost—at least this Friday morning—is Patrick’s list of potential dates, should the right moment ever present itself to ask David out. And sometimes, like today when work is slow and David is rearranging things just to keep his hands busy, he likes to scroll through them to ensure no option has gone unexplored.

  * Laid-back, no pressure holiday-themed movie night at Ray’s (Ray must be otherwise occupied or all of his opinions about the use of fake snow in cinema will be the evening’s main focus. See also: privacy)
  * Bob’s cabin for hot toddies in front of a roaring fire (To Do: practice making hot toddies; find out if David is formally averse to bearskin rugs; check for double bookings to prevent hilariously farcical situation)
  * Dinner (Cafe Tropical??? Candlelight in Elmdale???; drop hints about a violinist to see how high David’s vocal register reaches but don’t actually hire a violinist; there must be dessert)
  * ~~Drinks at the Wobbly Elm~~ —Boring
  * Drinks at the Dude Cave (Too distracting??)
  * Tour of local Christmas lights (More romantic but potentially involves walking, which David seems morally opposed to if it doesn’t involving buying something or eating something; pack snacks; be prepared for everything to be too “garish”)
  * Christmas carol karaoke night (David would probably jump out of the moving vehicle unless he’d already had drinks—ETA: Polar Bear shots—at the Wobbly Elm and even then, questionable)
  * Paint your own pottery class (Con: messy; Pro: Recreate _Ghost_ without actually being a ghost; To Do: rewatch _Ghost)_
  * Bread-baking (See again: Ray and his prolific yeast opinions. Plus David has been shunned by the Amish—bad bread memories or just butter?)
  * Craft fair (Daytime so harder to make romantic; David’s feelings about crocheted toilet paper cozies are well-documented)



Even _reading_ the list fills him with want and inevitability and tips his highly logical, overly methodical brain into believing his whole world is going to change in all the very best ways. The anticipation has been building since he met David, since he was handed a ticket that opened...everything, and a light was switched on in a very dark room. 

But, logically, all that anticipation will lead nowhere if he doesn’t find a way to ask David out _soon_ , he thinks, tucking his phone back into his jeans pocket. (Mental note: buy tighter jeans.)

Noise filters in through the store’s front window. Craning his neck, Patrick can see a pack of parka-clad teenagers tossing handfuls of snow and shouting as they tote inner tubes, saucers, and sleds down an empty, snow-covered Main Street. 

It’s the kind of scene that gives Patrick a pang of a nostalgia for snow days and running around with friends, but he’s almost thirty now. He doesn’t need to roll around in snow every time a few inches cover the ground. Except he’s so far gone that even the idea of rolling around takes his mind right back to David. He tries not to look over at him, in case any of the wistfulness reads on his face. At this point Patrick isn’t sure how he’s hiding what feels like a flashing billboard with an arrow pointing directly at his heart. 

David sighs and hauls himself up onto the counter, his knees open as he adjusts to balance properly. It would be the simplest, easiest thing to just...go fill the space. Once he was there he could rest his hands on the top of David’s thighs and breathe in the skin at his neck and—

“Ugh, sledding is a pastime for gullible school children whose parents just want to sip their martinis in peace,” David announces through an exaggerated grimace. “So easily duped.”

“That’s an awfully strong reaction to kids out having fun on a day off from school. Are you sure you don’t live on Mount Crumpit?” Patrick ambles closer. Unwrapping David’s complaints so he can dismantle them is like his own form of Christmas.

“Oh no, I’m certain I live there.” David’s eyebrows do an uncanny impression of a Grinch scowl, probably not on purpose. His own knees go slightly weak; he’s glad he is already leaning. “But you cannot possibly tell me that falling down a mountain is fun.”

“Is that really what you think sledding is?”

“No.” David crosses his arms. Oh no, _this_ is Patrick’s favorite challenge, the one where he now gets to attempt to disrupt the defensive posture of his business partner. “But it was never something we _did.”_

Sometimes Patrick is still caught off-guard at how many childhood rites of passage just seemed to have skipped like stones right over the Rose household. Things like learning how to ride a bike or going to slumber parties or believing in the Tooth Fairy. For someone with a parent who performed make-believe for a living, David’s childhood has never sounded particularly magical. 

“Hey, I’ll take you sledding.” What is he doing? What if a gang of marauding pirates had just run by? Would he be inviting David out for an evening of light pillaging? 

Sledding was _not_ on the list, but it gets David to uncross his arms. _Victory._ “Oh no, you don’t have to do that.”

“No, I want to. It’ll be fun. And nothing like falling down a mountain.” 

David appears to be considering it. Patrick steps closer, hoping the proximity increases his chances of hearing _yes_. He’s worried David thinks he’s only offering to right this grievous wrong as a show of kindness. It's important David understands Patrick’s interest isn’t just kindness wrapped up in teasing and smothered in business partnership. He wants all of that _and_ dinner in Elmdale and holiday movie nights and to finally see what David’s hands can do, roaring fire optional.

David is squinting dubiously at the snow, so clearly he needs to sweeten the pot. “C’mon David, we’ll get hot chocolate.”

An eyebrow. “Milk-based? Marshmallows, and not the teeny, tiny, dust-covered ones?”

“Whipped cream even.”

David finally smiles, one of those real, genuine smiles that only certain people get to see. It’s a smile Patrick imagines when he’s closing his eyes at night and one that reminds him why he’s going into work the next morning. 

“Yes, okay. I’d like that.” 

“Good. Great. Wonderful.” Patrick runs out of superlatives just as the bell over the door jangles, announcing their first customer in over an hour. 

The potential sale is apparently skincare-related. Once David goes to help, it leaves Patrick ample time to quietly panic near the register.

Patrick has spent weeks crafting his list, pondering the right moment, the right conditions, the way to go about asking David out without seeming like an idiot. And now he’s just skipped right over all of them, like he’s already careening downhill at top speeds.

Patrick doesn’t stick around the register to ring up the sale and instead excuses himself to “look at the books,” which is actually code for “feverishly research romantic sledding locations in Elm County.”

Luckily, his furtive search yields plenty of parks with sledding hills available. He finds entire web forums dedicated to locations and conditions because the internet is both helpful and bonkers. He finally selects the Elm Glen Golf Club based on ease of access, lighting, and gradation of hills.

Patrick strolls out of their makeshift office just before closing, apparently looking every bit as accomplished as he feels. 

“Are the books looking better? You’re making that 'I just negotiated a lower lease rate' face again,” David comments. 

“Yep, they’re looking very promising,” he replies, running a bit of extra receipt tape so he can use it to draw David a map to find the golf course. When he presents it to David, David’s hand is cool and soft beneath his. He wants to hold it, kiss the fine bones of his wrist—later. When the moment is right. “I’ll see you at eight?” 

“Eight-ish,” David amends while nodding.

While David sweeps the floor, Patrick starts their closing procedures, brain still whirring with everything he has left to do. 

He takes out his phone and starts yet another list.

  * Hot chocolate (Milk-based, marshmallows, whipped cream; mugs; Do I have a thermos?)
  * Blanket (Something cozy, preferably bespoke but Hudson Bay will do.)
  * Sled (Shit.)



**2\. Involve your landlord in sled procurement.**

Patrick has been in Canadian Tire for five minutes and he already has some very strong words for the entirety of the sled manufacturing industry. 

It’s just...nothing in the aisle matches his vision for how he wants tonight to look. He cannot imagine wrapping his arms around David’s waist and pulling him close as they sit atop a foam-core Avengers sled. He can already hear the indignation rising from David like steam. And while he loves to set David off, he wants to impress him more.

The thing is, Patrick knows he used to be good at this. At dating. He’s always been good at knowing what people like and trying to make them feel good, and whether that always made him feel good too, well. Most of the time it helped. 

He turns down the next aisle, hoping that suddenly the perfect sled will magically appear. He knows that David makes him feel good—makes him feel incredible, actually, in his easy laughter and his small touches and the way he looks at Patrick like he can really _see_ him. And it isn’t just physical, although it is definitely that _(hello wet dream you had about your business partner),_ but Patrick wants to make David feel the same kinds of fizzy, strange, perfect, out of control, completely unquantifiable feelings that Patrick does, about him. 

And since his mouth acted without his brain, it’s going to have to start with a sled.

Back at his car, he takes a critical look at the purchase. A nervous, sick feeling builds in his gut when he thinks _how will this ever add up to the best date David Rose has ever been on?_ And then seconds later, a second more self-assured voice reminds him, _but he’s never been on a date with you._

That confidence carries him through a whirlwind stop at Brebner’s for snack supplies. 

Unfortunately he’s thwarted in his efforts to slip past Ray by the fact that he is carrying multiple rustling bags, combined with Ray’s Pavlovian response to the sound of business happening without him. 

“Is that a sled I see in the backseat of your vehicle, Patrick?” 

The man should be running a detective agency. 

“Yes.” Patrick tries not to sound annoyed but he still has hot cocoa to mix and a shower to take and David to impress with the effortless nature of this clearly effortful behavior. “I’m taking David sledding tonight.”

Ray giggles, which is unexpected on a few levels. “Well that is certainly a choice!” 

Patrick’s entire body flushes. One of his bags drops noisily down his arm, causing him to jump. “What...what is that supposed to mean?”

“I just...picturing David Rose on a sled! What a joyous occasion! Well, not for David, most likely. Oh, I do hope that this event is well documented.” Ray takes his phone out of his pocket as if he has people he needs to notify. Like there’s a text chain at the ready. “This would actually be a delightful feature in my newsletter, The Twelve Rays of Christmas, and if you could just—”

“Ray.” Patrick cuts him off. The panic is building again and his list isn’t getting any shorter. “I appreciate your interest but this isn’t really—a spectator thing? Or a newsworthy thing?”

“Oh ye of little faith! Well. If it becomes newsworthy, please think of me. And my readers.”

On the landing, Patrick makes another choice he fears he may live to regret. “Ray, you don’t happen...you don’t happen to have a good sturdy sled around here do you?”

Ray puts his phone away. “You know, I did run a small sledding business a few years back, but it never really took off, as it were. But thanks to Fifty Sleighs of Ray, I do have quite a surplus of winter equipment in the garage collecting dust right now. Feel free to peruse them at your leisure. And for a small fee and security deposit, of course.”

Patrick nods. This has already taken too much time to quibble over price points. “Of course.” 

  
**3\. Do not clearly specify that sledding is a date.**

The moment David steps out of the car at the Elm Glen Golf Club, all of Patrick’s planning, all of his worry, all of his fear that he’s made the exact wrong choice in bringing David sledding, slips right out of his mind.

In fact, Patrick is so entranced by David under the moonlit, sapphire sky that he doesn’t register that it is Stevie’s car until the second door slams.

“So this is sledding?” An impractically dressed though still beautiful David gestures to the parking lot, empty save for Patrick’s and Stevie’s vehicles.

Patrick takes too long to answer as his brain turns itself inside out trying to account for Stevie’s presence. Does this mean David doesn’t know this is supposed to be a date? Or is Stevie a way of ensuring that it isn’t one?

He swallows against his own confusion and hopes his voice stays even. “Hmm no, this is parking. But once we get onto the course, Facebook did promise ‘decent hills, good views, and not too many teenagers being dinks.’”

“Charming.” David’s mouth is in a little twisted line and Patrick can feel his desire and anxiety spiking in tandem.

“Ooh, did you bring hot cocoa?” Stevie interrupts his second spiral in as many minutes as she gestures to the thermos and two (not three!) camping mugs Patrick packed into a thermal bag for transport as Ray noisily supervised.

He nods. He’s still fishing both disappointment and embarrassment out of his chest, right around the area where his heart has just capsized. Even with his head bowed, he sees David and Stevie exchange a wordless but communication-heavy glance. It’s possible they even realize what a mess he’s making.

“And it looks like you also brought more sleds!” He aims for cheery but it’s possible he sounds more like a game show host who has just been fired mid-prize reveal. “I had a hard time finding the right one.”

Stevie has brought a plastic saucer, which is basically the chaos demon of sliders and impossible to control. It is the kind of sled Patrick’s mom never allowed him to ride when he was growing up because she said he would become a human bowling ball and take out half the park; she didn’t want that kind of guilt on her head. Luckily, David is holding a safer sled, a smaller trapezoidal black one. Everyone else’s attention is trained at the enormous wooden monstrosity Patrick eventually selected from Ray’s garage, after much consideration and the exchange of a non-negligible amount of cash.

“Is that...is that Rosebud?” David asks with a kind of curious reverence, toeing at it with one of his high top sneakers, a choice of footwear Patrick knows will make ascending the hill difficult at best. 

Stevie snorts. “It does kind of look like the sled from _Citizen Kane.”_ David gives her a strange look. “What? My Aunt Maureen loved that movie.”

Patrick doesn’t know if saying _I thought it seemed sturdy enough for two people_ is an adequate retort, or if it gives his whole game away. At this point, he isn’t sure there’s a game left to give. “They just don’t make them like they used to,” he shrugs, hoping he sounds blase. “We should head up then. Try these out.”

David turns around to look at the gradual gradient of the hill and whirls back, eyes wide. “Patrick, you said it _wasn’t_ a mountain.”

“Yeah. I mean, no one is coming here with a pack mule and a sherpa.” Patrick’s chest continues to tighten with...he refuses to name it panic. 

“And you’re suggesting that we just saunter up this mountain like—like pioneer people, without any type of towing system—”

“Wait. You thought there would be a ski lift at a golf course?” Stevie asks so Patrick doesn’t have to.

“I mean, I was hoping that there would be some mechanical enhancements, yes. It seems a bit barbaric to just...walk. Is there anyone over the age of twelve who actually thinks this is fun?”

Stevie’s eyes shoot to Patrick’s face and he hopes he’s able to school his dismay into something more neutral. 

“Well, just promise us when the inevitable throat frostbite sets in—”

“—from all the screaming—” Stevie calmly interjects.

“—that you will complete the ceremonial tea and tongue removal,” Patrick finishes, feeling a little more like he’s in his own body.

David darts his eyes between the two of them, disbelieving. “You are both nightmare people, spreading nightmare lies. I’m sorry I don’t know sledding choreography, okay? Let’s just do the thing already.”

“After you,” Patrick gestures and the three of them begin to make their way up the hill. 

David spends most of the journey complaining about the biting wind and altitude sickness and twice about his toque misshaping his hair as Patrick discovers that the reason they stopped making sleds like Ray’s was because they weigh as much as a compact car and should only be towed uphill by camper. 

“Yeah, so quick question,” David starts just as Patrick is dropping his sled into the snow and questioning how he ever thought he’d manage to flirt his way through this activity, “what if I’m afraid of heights?”

 _I forgot about Anderson Cooper._ “David, I promise, you’ll be on the ground the whole time.”

David’s face does ten things, but the last six appear slightly fear-based. “Yes but some of that ground will be very far away.” 

Maybe this isn’t a date to David, but he can still try to infuse it with date-like reassurance. He pats David’s back and allows his hand to linger. “Don’t worry, David, I’ve got you.” 

As Patrick drops down onto his sled to the left of David, David gives him a half-smile and it’s enough to light Patrick up from the inside, all his frustration skimming away with the warmth of David’s eyes. “Okay, so how does this work? Do I just...go?”

“Yeah you can push off—” But before he can finish, David is already plummeting down the hill with a surprised yelp. “Lean in the direction you want to turn!” Patrick shouts as David careens across a wide swath and then zig-zags gracefully out of range of the fence. “Hey, you’re a natural!” 

“Alright, that should buy us a minute.” Patrick turns to find Stevie, who has clearly just been the purveyor of an unprompted shove. “Listen, do you think you can share that monster with David if I take off? I think I might be interrupting something here.”

Patrick doesn't think he's ever loved Stevie more than in this moment. “I mean, of course I’ll share with David but you don’t have to—”

“No, I want to.” Stevie glances down at where David appears to have safely landed and is now refusing to make the return climb unattended. “Looks like you might have to go get your boy.” 

Heat blooms in his chest and he blushes. Even from a distance, Patrick can see the glower on David's face and he can't wait to get to the bottom so he can see it up close. He nods to Stevie. "Will do."

With his assurance, she drops onto her black saucer and races down the hill in the same zig-zagging groove that David etched. Patrick follows, making a second, larger track with his sled that criss-crosses over David and Stevie’s path. He ends up a few feet from where David is standing, out of breath. He’s not sure if it’s having Stevie on his side or they really don’t make sleds like they used to, but the ride downhill is exhilarating.

They both watch as Stevie grabs the black sled from where David abandoned it and picks up her own. “So I’m going to go—”

David looks from Patrick to Stevie and back again. 

“I forgot I have a...thing with Twyla tonight and she actually needs these back or they’ll turn into pumpkins. Ancient curse and everything. Plus you know what they say, too many sledders on the golf course—” Stevie directs her attention to Patrick, the other two sleds tucked up under her arm. “And you’ll give him a ride home?”

Patrick nods, emphatically. “Yes, yes of course.” 

Not quite finished with his protest, the color in David’s cheeks is high. “Excuse me but are you absconding with our main source of entertainment?” 

“Patrick still has his sled, David.” Stevie gives Patrick a look that says _Do I have to do everything for you?_

“Yeah, yes,” Patrick steps forward and almost stumbles over his own boot. His mortification turns to satisfaction when David reaches out to steady him. “We can share.”

David’s eyebrows rise as Stevie artfully slips away with a vague warning about sand traps. Patrick makes a mental note to ring her out a really good bottle of wine the next time he sees her as David peers back up the hill. “And you’re absolutely positive that this is a thing people do for fun and not some kind of cruel practical joke?” 

“Well, yeah, no, but it’s also very…” Patrick isn’t sure where the selling point would be for David, now that he’s experienced it once. “Listen David, we can leave too if you want.”

David shakes his head. “No, I mean, we’re here and I heard an unsubstantiated rumor that there could be hot cocoa—”

“I also brought fixings for s’mores,” Patrick says and points to the top of the hill where the pack with his supplies leans forlornly against a small tree. He watches as David’s face lights up, even in the dark. Finally, they’re at least within the scope of his intentions. 

“Race you to the top,” he taunts, knocking David lightly with his shoulder and fully expecting to be given a look that could cut glass. 

Instead the dimple in his cheek ripples warmly. “I may consider a brisk walk, but that is my final offer.”

Hope flares again at the base of Patrick’s spine. “Deal.”

  
**4\. Hold the date in hostile weather conditions.**

The snow starts to fall again about ten minutes after Stevie departs, softening the edges of the tracks they’ve made.

Patrick’s shoulders are beginning to ache from towing Ray’s heavy sled up the incline after he and David have taken turns doing a few solo runs, but he barely notices it as David is animatedly relaying why ice skating is clearly the superior outdoor winter activity.

“Unless you’re among the hoi polloi at Rockefeller Center where even Sandra Bullock herself could not save it,” David finishes as they finally arrive back at the apex of the hill. 

“I never thought I’d see the day when you thought Sandra Bullock couldn’t save something,” Patrick teases, his chest still burning from the climb.

“She can help Keanu but she can’t work miracles, Patrick.” David’s cheeks are pink and wind-burnt; he shivers, full-bodied, under his parka. 

“Are you too cold? Should we pack it in?” 

David shakes his head, surprising Patrick not for the first time that evening. It was only a few moments before that David had gone ass over teakettle into a snowdrift and Patrick assumed that he would be taking David home via ambulance or at the very worst be served with a lawsuit for wrongful death, not to mention the shame and utter stupidity of thinking that David Rose plus sledding equalled a Perfect Friday Night.   
  
Patrick nearly tumbled down the hill himself when his appreciation of David’s excellent form turned to abject panic. In the end he managed to keep himself upright as he jogged down to help.

But David rose like the Abominable Snow Phoenix, flakes clinging to his neck and parka and the thighs of his jeans like ashes, and then he insisted they go again to redeem himself. 

Patrick can still feel the warmth of David’s gloved hand in his as he pulled him up, brushing the snow from as much as David as he could reach. 

“Obviously this was a mistake,” Patrick told him, trying not to concentrate too heavily on the snow that was sticking like frozen nettles to David’s perfect backside. “We should have done anything else but this.”

“Well, I don’t know who decided to leave their pile of ice and rocks untended in what is clearly the sledding path but—” David shook out his limbs as if he was checking to be sure they were all still connected. “Why?”

“Just,” Patrick blinked at him a few times, slowly, until it dawned on him that David might actually be having fun. Or that he wanted to be there, too. “If I were you, this kind of disaster would have ruined my whole...experience.”

“I mean, once I got past both the cardiovascular workout and the death-defying luge aspect, I can see why some people might like it.” He dusted himself off one last time and glanced at Patrick with what might be shyness. “There are _some_ positives.”

Patrick didn’t ask him to elaborate. They just climbed the hill again and here they stand, puffs of breath shimmering like wintry ghosts between them. 

“We could go...together, if you wanted. To warm up,” Patrick suggests, very magnanimously. 

“Hmm, cuddling at breakneck speeds.” David’s smile shifts then, morphing into something like interest. Patrick’s chest becomes a jumble of staccato heartbeats and giddy anticipation as David answers, “I’d like that.”

They adjust themselves on the sled with David gripping Patrick’s waist, his breath warm on the still exposed skin of Patrick’s neck. Patrick likes the way David is tucked up against his back, his chest pressing firm against Patrick’s shoulders. He likes the warmth and the width of him, the way David shields him, but also how he’s able to shield David. Ray’s sled now feels purposeful and perfect, large enough to hold them, but small enough that they press together like magnets.   
  
“This is nice,” David says into Patrick’s ear and a thrill races through him.

“Yes, it is.” Patrick takes a deep breath, savoring how the cold constricts his lungs and grounds him because right now, in David’s arms, he feels like he could fly away.

The thing about having a crush on David that makes all this unbridled wanting bearable is that Patrick keeps finding new things to like. And now he’s realizing how much he appreciates David’s willingness to do the things that scare him.

Maybe Patrick can do things he’s scared of, too.

“So on three, we’ll go?” Patrick calls back to David, whose grip tightens. 

“3. 2. 1. Go!”

  
**5\. Mind the sand traps.**

Together they’re going faster than either of them did individually, the wind whistling by them, snow creating a vortex of motion as they fly down the hill. The complete and utter loss of control is usually terrifying, but with David’s arms around him, his chin tucked over his shoulder, his laughter leaving warm tracks on his cheek, it just feels like freedom. Being with David is like being free.

Patrick thinks the feeling might last forever until they hit the corner of a sand trap and the sled flies out from underneath them both.

Tumbling into a two-man graceless heap, Patrick opens his eyes to find himself staring into David’s coal-black ones, his face millimeters away, the air vibrating with heat. His breath smells like mint and his lips are full and so close. If Patrick could lift his head an inch, a half an inch...

“Fancy meeting you here,” Patrick blurts instead, mostly to break the tension he’s just created by staring for too long at David’s lips, breathless and accessible. The wind is knocked out of him from both the fall and the way David is pressing him into the snow and honestly, he would happily stay this way until spring.

“Are you concussed?” David asks, concerned, because concern is the absolute correct response to ‘fancy meeting you here.’ It’s clearly a cry for help.

“I don’t think so, no.” Although that would have been a much better excuse.

David heaves himself up into a position he must deem better for inspecting Patrick’s soundness of mind. Unfortunately, that means he is still straddling Patrick’s pelvis, which Patrick is enjoying but actively trying not to think about, for fear he will further embarrass himself. David isn’t helping matters with how carefully he is touching Patrick’s face. 

“No cuts or scrapes. Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Patrick does a perfunctory, David-monitored review of his own limbs and David is finally satisfied enough to allow him to sit up. He pats David’s thigh to indicate he is okay to get up, and takes a brief moment to relish the placement of his hand, however fleeting. Even without standing, Patrick can tell his ankle hurts a bit sharply, but he isn’t going to call anything off on account of a possible sprain. He can walk it off. “I’m fine. Really. And our cocoa is still up at the top.”

“Remind me who made that executive decision again?” David scolds, playful. “One of us should be carrying it around our necks in a barrel.” His cheeks are still pink from the wind and a snowflake clings to the curve of his lashes and if Patrick wasn’t starting to worry about the status of his ankle, he’d be kissing him. 

Patrick grunts as he allows David to help him to his feet. Putting weight on his foot is iffy, but he figures he’s already running on adrenaline and endorphins so he can power through. Except he takes three steps up the icy terrain and realizes that there is no way that he’s going to be able to climb the hill on his own.

“You know, I can buy another thermos,” he tells David as he stares dejectedly at the abandoned picnic. It’s probably dramatic to think that he’s stranded his dreams up there, especially since David is still holding his hand. “We’ll make s’mores another time.”

“But you brought them this time. And we didn’t do all that sledding not to eat s’mores after.” David is getting the same determined look he gets in his eye when he’s waiting in line for Ivan’s special butter tarts: it’s very take-no-prisoners, and not coincidentally, also very hot. “Listen. You stay put and I’ll go get them.”

“David, seriously—” he starts to protest, but David has already started his ascent. He watches as David spider-walks his way up the increasingly icy hill towing Ray’s ridiculously heavy sled so that he can rescue their snacks and ride it back to the bottom, which he does, impressively.

Because David Rose never ceases to impress him.

**+1. Kiss him anyway.**

Afterward, David pulls the sled and his bounty toward the trunk of the nearest tree and gestures for Patrick to limp over and sit at the far end. David then settles opposite him so his legs are splayed on either side of the sled and pulls Patrick’s sore ankle to rest on the bend of his knee.

“Here, let me.” David’s voice is raspy from the cold but his hands are warm and quick as he grips higher on Patrick’s shin to start unlacing his boot. Satisfied he has Patrick’s wool sock pulled down enough to expose the site, he gently checks for bruising. “It’s already looking a little swollen, you should probably keep it elevated.” 

“You’re very good at this,” Patrick says, gesturing to David as he removes a few hand warmers from his gloves and applies them to the injured area with measured care, finally slipping them into the top of Patrick’s sock to hold them there. It would be so easy to reach out and pull David closer, but Patrick leaves his hands on his lap. “Where did you—”

David glances up from his ministrations. “Party monster phase platform boots. Plus ten-year-old Alexis practicing in my mother’s stilettos. It’s an era I’d rather forget. But the first aid training has lasted a lifetime.” He lightly touches the skin where it looks most tender and Patrick tries to hide his wince. “Does it hurt?”

Patrick shakes his head. He would love to revel in the attention and care he’s receiving, which means he needs to keep David from concluding that an immediate end to the date is necessary. He doesn’t want David to stop touching him, ever. “No, it’s good. The heat really helps, thanks.”

“Good. I’m glad.” With Patrick’s boot laced and pant leg straightened, David’s long fingers stay balanced at Patrick’s ankle where it is still propped on David’s leg. Patrick doesn’t want to move. 

He should move, though, at least to get the chocolate and marshmallows, after so much effort was put into retrieving them. It's hard to look away from David, to want to care about anything else, but he manages it; he arranges the s'mores supplies as neatly as he can, brushing David’s elbow as unscrews the lid to the thermos and offers David his first mug of hot cocoa.

David takes a sip and makes an indecent noise that Patrick feels everywhere in his body. It's unfair. "Oh my god, this is incredible," he says, lustily going in for another drink. 

After polishing off his cup and most of Patrick's, David starts fumbling around in his pocket, finally pulling out his phone.

Patrick raises an eyebrow, fear pulsing in his chest. “Are you calling the Swiss army to airlift us out of here?” 

David doesn’t answer because his tongue is tucked between his teeth as he struggles to scroll down his screen with gloved fingertips.

“I’ve done that before but no,” he finally says, giving up and yanking one glove off. A beat-heavy dance tune fills the quiet night and David makes a displeased face. “No, not that…” he makes several more adjustments, scrolling and jabbing at the screen until a soft, lyrical melody plays. “Yes, this is better,” he decides and pulls the picnic blanket up onto their laps, smoothing it down so they’re both well-shielded from the elements, even though it may have been fine the way it was. His hand lingers over Patrick’s knee, bare fingers only inches from where Patrick has placed his.

“Okay, now this is more like it.” David announces to the open air and Patrick feels a bit of the tension drain out of his shoulders, out of his chest, because he knows that this is David, making things right. He's turning the night into what Patrick has been wanting for David: something fizzy, perfect, unquantifiable. Magic.

Patrick scoots closer, handing David a skewer for his marshmallow and as he moves, he adjusts his ankle a bit on David’s leg in an effort to show his interest in keeping it where it is, secure and well taken care of. Digging the aim-and-flame out of his Mary Poppins bag of date night offerings, he finally lights the can of sterno he’s just wedged into the snow and demonstrates its intent.

“Ooh very impressive.” David looks appropriately awed and Patrick’s heart stutters in his chest. “Next time, let’s skip the winter sports and dive right into the winter food offerings.”

“Next time? Getting a little ahead of yourself, don’t you think?” It feels good to go back to baseline with David, that sweet, teasing, familiar spot where their conversation usually lies. “But I’ll take the note.”

This time when David leans a little closer, Patrick doesn't try to convince himself he doesn't notice. David smiles. “Well, thank you for inviting me tonight, in any case.”

“Yes, for an evening of long, frigid walks uphill, turning you into a Yeti, and possible sprains,” Patrick scoffs and David rests the marshmallow he'd just begun to roast on the top of their makeshift fire.

“Well, sure, but you also wanted to give me an experience that I’d never had. Not a lot of people have...cared about that before.” David’s voice goes soft then as he deliberately strokes Patrick’s calf over the blanket, not breaking eye contact.

“I care.” 

“Yeah. I’m getting that.” David's smile is an invitation. “Is there something...I mean, if there was an experience that you were interested in...or wanted to try...”

He has watched as David continually finds ways to step outside of himself and it makes Patrick want to, too. 

“I want to kiss you. Have been wanting—” He doesn’t get to finish because David is pressing his lips against Patrick’s, his artificially warmed fingertips guiding him forward by the chin. Patrick shivers as David’s hand trails to grip the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweet. 

The thing Patrick has learned about wanting is that it doesn’t take long before it turns to hunger; it’s an even shorter path from hunger to starvation. And that’s where Patrick is now, starving for David’s lips on his, for his hands on his skin, for his body against his body. 

He presses forward, his legs wrapping around David’s waist so that he’s mostly in his lap, and David makes an assenting noise, urging Patrick on. 

This is it, the flipped switch, and Patrick is blazing with it. His body feels light and hot, all at once, and when he opens his eyes, David is smiling, lips plush and pink, hat crooked. Patrick doesn’t remember putting his hands in David’s hair. He wants to start over, to savor it, to repeat it. Instead he leans over and presses a closed-mouth kiss to David’s cheekbone. 

David ducks his head, curling his lips into the shy, sly smile, the one Patrick has learned to catalogue as pride. David is glowing and Patrick thinks he might be too, as snow glitters in the air around them, bright and blinding and perfect. Patrick can’t feel anything except his own heartbeat and the ghost of David’s lips on his. 

Patrick’s head is full of static, a kind of beautiful white noise and Mariah Carey singing softly...oh right, David brought Mariah. There is still a question in his head and it tumbles, unbidden, out of his mouth to land directly at David’s feet. “What was I waiting for?”

David shrugs, cupping Patrick’s face again and going in for another lighter, sweeter, even more perfect kiss. “This.”

* * *

The full details of Patrick’s accident and recovery are outlined in _The Twelve Days of Ray._ High speed, downhill cuddling earned him a hairline fracture and six to eight weeks in a booted cast, which, off the record, has increasingly been in the way of things he would like to be doing with David.

Two weeks after their first date, David glides into the store, newsletter in hand, and kisses Patrick hello before slapping the pages sledding-article-open on the counter.

“Ooh, the ‘Slippery Slope to Love.’ Ray’s really levelling up on his titles.” 

“I—well. That’s not even the most egregious part.” David scowls and Patrick hitches up so he can kiss it away. “‘When asked what the local entrepreneurs were doing on the sledding hill alone after dark, Mr. Brewer simply replied, ‘No comment.’ Do you _know_ what my family did with that?”

David pretending to be embarrassed about how much Patrick likes him is one of his favorite things. “Honestly, I was seconds away from bursting into song. Do you know how hard it was for me not to shout about you from the rooftops?”

“Yes well. Thankfully that would have required you to have been somewhat ambulatory, so we were all spared.”

“Were we though? Because this explains why Roland just asked me if I’d bedded you yet.”

“Quaint.” 

“Yeah, he followed it up with something about sealing the deal, so not really. But, look, there’s already an ad here for the revival of Fifty Sleighs of Ray. Do you think he'll give us a discount as his first repeat customers?”

David crosses behind the counter to join Patrick, where he presses a tender kiss to his temple. “After using us to sell his salacious newsletter I certainly hope so.”

“Mmm.” Patrick kisses him for real this time, not just hello, but _I missed you_ and _I'm happy to see you_ and _Let’s keep doing this for as long as we can._

Maybe Patrick will get David a sled. He’ll need to make a note for their one month anniversary. He has a whole list.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *****
> 
> I cannot thank my betas [vivianblakesunrisebay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianblakesunrisebay/pseuds/vivianblakesunrisebay/works) and [Distractivate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Distractivate/pseuds/Distractivate) enough for riding this slippery slope and helping me as I wrote a last-minute-spur-of-the-middle-of-the-night prompt. (If you know me, a week is absolutely spur of the moment.)
> 
> And double thanks to Distractivate and ICMezzo for all their hard work organizing and wrangling this gorgeous fest.


End file.
